


the paths we take

by Pegasister60



Series: egg basket [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Gen, Magician AU, Magician Naegi Makoto, Mastermind AU, Mastermind Naegi Makoto, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phoenix Naegi Makoto, Prince Naegi Makoto, Scopophobic Naegi Makoto, Self-Hatred, Werewolf AU, Werewolf Naegi Makoto, monster au, phobophobia au, phoenix au, prince AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pegasister60/pseuds/Pegasister60
Summary: We'd all like to believe our choices are our own. That we have complete control of our destinies.But even those with the strongest wills and the deepest drives are shaped by their surroundings, their peers, their circumstances.How does this affect us? How differently do we think, dream, act because of a single change?Based on my AU blog: ask-all-the-eggs-in-one-basket on Tumblr
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko & Naegi Makoto, Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto
Series: egg basket [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641433
Kudos: 22





	1. hellfire

**Author's Note:**

> Hey peeps!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Self-loathing and borderline suicidal ideation. 
> 
> Stay safe, peeps!

He couldn’t remember how he got here. This endless void of nothing.

No, not nothing. There had to be air. His lungs were filling with something and it sure as hell wasn’t blood.

So he was floating somewhere with air.

He ruled out space too. Not cold enough. No stars. No light.

Wait, there had to be light, he could see himself. His shiny black nail polish reflected his face somewhat. 

He couldn’t see any bruises or signs of manhandling. Either he came here willingly or some freaky shit was going on.

When he tried to turn around he found himself stepping on something solid. Invisible? Maybe the same color as everything else.

Color. 

His nails weren’t as black as the void around him. Might be vantablack. His pink hoodie was the brightest thing in sight. He was tempted to untie it from his waist and put it on for comfort.

He wasn’t that pathetic, though. He just crossed his arms and took in the nothing that stretched as far as the eye could see.

What if it was some sort of illusion? What if he just couldn’t perceive the depth because of how dark the void was?

Only way to find out is to start walking, then.

So, he walked.

And walked.

And walked.

…

There wasn’t gonna be a fucking wall was there?

Great. Great! Fan-fucking-tastic! This was exactly how he wanted to spend the rest of his worthless existence. 

Was this hell?

He was hella disappointed if that was the case. He’d been expecting fire and screaming of the damned. Fuck religion and it’s letdowns.

Well, that’s life.

He sat on the “ground”.

One disappointment after the other.

…

What the fuck was that?

He scrambled to stand as the ground beneath him gleamed red.

It was gone quick, but he knew what he saw. It was hard to miss a burst of color when the whole world was so depressingly empty and bleak. 

Almost fitting really. 

A waste of human life left to rot where it would not be missed. Not that he would’ve been missed anyways. Not after what he did to his loved ones, his friends, his enemies. 

No one mourns the wicked.

Again! A burst of a bright red blooming from the ground he stood on. 

It lingered this time. He wondered…

Nobody ever gave a shit about him. He was a pathetic, worthless, useless boy that should’ve died. His only talent was bringing misery and misfortune everywhere he went. Like a rat carrying plague-ridden fleas he caused outbreaks of despair and death wherever he went. He was a curse on his family and the rest of mankind. He didn’t deserve love. He didn’t deserve life. He was such a terrible, terrible person. Worthless, useless, attention whore--

The ground lit up like fireworks had been set off from beneath a glass floor. The shades were so beautiful. Some like bricks, others like lipstick, but the brightest matched his eyes.

Red like despair.

The colors lingered and swirled in entrancing patterns. He could watch them for hours.

Then some broke off. Broke off and shot off somewhere into the nothingness on his right. 

He was puzzled.

He was more so when the color shot back. 

This time it was _orange._

Orange like fire.

He took a step forward to look closer. His foot made the ground beneath it set off a flare that shot to wherever the orange came from.

The orange sent back it’s own flare.

He waited.

Then he ran.

Ran into a void filled with fire. Red and orange mingling, sometimes clashing and making sparks that jumped out of the ground.

He spoke too soon.

This might just be his kind of hell after all.


	2. bubbling

His breath quickened every second. 

no no no no no no no

This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.

Did he vanish himself by accident? He couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember?

Where was he? There was nothing for miles. 

His hands came up to tug at his hair harshly. He wasn’t dreaming. There was never pain in his nightmares no matter how real they tried to convince him they were.

This had to be real then. That was worse.

He didn’t remember where he was, but maybe he could find an exit. 

...

The darkness was deceptive.

He’d walked four hundred steps in one direction and eight hundred in the opposite. He wasn’t even tired. Not only was counting his steps the only way to judge distance, it was also the only way to tell time from what he could tell.

This was getting him nowhere, quite literally.

One good thing to come from this was that his panic had been drained from his system. All he felt now was a constant unease and a growing curiosity. 

The void let him alternate between walking on some solid ground and floating in place. There was some sort of conditional gravity then.

He wondered if he could still use his powers here.

He reached into his sleeve and, with all the control he’d built up over the years, prepared to pull a flashlight from it.

Turns out there was no need for one.

Almost as soon as he reached into that familiar space within his soul, the void beneath him lit up with swirling cloud of blue. He jumped a little, the cloud dissipating as his focus broke.

That was new.

He blinked, then pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. He had to know if it was another development in his powers.

He shuffled the deck and performed some standard shuffling tricks. No colors.

Then he snapped his fingers, sparks of flames jumping from his fingertips to set the deck on fire.

The ground lit up immediately with at least seven different blues all swirling together. Blues like the afternoon sky. Blue like a bird’s feathers. Blue like cotton candy. Blue like berries. Blue like the night.

Its properties kept shifting as he blew out the flames eating at the cards, then restored the cards to their original state.

Then a portion of the fog trapped inside the void circled him almost eagerly. 

It then flung itself somewhere behind him, far beyond his sight.

He was puzzled. He turned around and took a step in that direction. 

More was sent off.

He started walking and pulling an endless chain of handkerchiefs from his sleeve. 

The blue started to rise and gain shape like he was a smoke machine. The soft blue glow was comforting and oddly familiar.

Then came the green.

Bright green. Toxic green. It slid through the fog and bubbled near the tip of his shoe.

It didn’t feel like the fog. Not in the slightest.

More came. It looked almost like someone had set off a bath bomb from how it reacted with his smoke.

He wasn’t scared, as strange as this was. He’d lived enough strange in his life to know what to be scared of.

He wasn’t scared of this.

Right now, as he took a running start with bubbles trailing behind him and guiding him to some unknown, he felt pretty damn bold.


	3. fractals

He wasn’t sure what to do.

He knew this place wasn’t just dark; he could see himself just fine. The odd source of light wasn’t his only concern, though.

He was more focused on how he couldn’t remember how he got here.

He knew who he was, where he came from, how to do things. It wasn’t total retrograde amnesia.

What to do then?

He supposed he could walk around a bit, try to find anything that wasn’t pitch black nothing.

So, he took a step. Then another.

He wandered for what must’ve been hours but felt like nothing at all. How strange.

He was glad he didn’t feel panicked. Nothing good ever came from losing one’s head.

He’d have to stay rational.

Now, what could he do?

He’d tried walking. Running probably wouldn’t be any different.

He couldn’t see anything. The “darkness” of the void was all he could see.

Did this place have limits? 

Perhaps running in one direction could give some sort of result. He wasn’t fond of the idea of slamming into a boundary at top speed. Or, even worse, racing off an edge.

Was the ground truly solid? Could he check?

He reached back to unbuckle his scabbard and move it to his waist. Once it was secure, he drew his sword and felt a warmth emanating from his trusted blade. 

He spread his stance a little and gripped the hilt with both hands, thrusting the sword towards the “ground”.

…

It went right through.

He used his foot to check and see if it was just that one patch, but no. It felt solid. 

He casually started dipping his sword past where the ground should be, experimentally alternating between sword and shoe.

Wait, he needed to focus! 

He pulled his sword back up and sheathed it.

He needed to focus on finding a way out. There might not be any tangible danger, but he had responsibilities. He had studies to continue, court to attend, people to serve.

He couldn’t just stay in this place. His people needed him! He had to get home.

A flash of purple startled him and sent his hand flying to the hilt of his sword.

Magic. Of course, why hadn’t he suspected it?

A familiar energy was amplified and spreading out beneath him in fractals. The pattern was one he’d seen before in dreams. 

It was almost like watching frost creep along a window. Except it was the most gorgeous shades of purple.

The pattern came to a point on his right, the tip gleaming before breaking off. It shot off like a bolt from a crossbow.

He began to follow, the ground lighting up with purple magic with every step. 

It was wonderful. 

Then there was pink.

Pink lights like fireflies trapped beneath the ground. When they met his fractals, both would rise from the ground. The fireflies freed, the fractals becoming crystals that gave off a soft purple light.

The fireflies were excited, flying this way and that before coming back around to circle him then lead him forward.

He was grinning so wide it hurt.

He’d find the source of the magic. Escape this place. Go back to his kingdom.

Whatever it took.


End file.
